


The Thirteen

by GodAmongstMen



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Intimidation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28551624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodAmongstMen/pseuds/GodAmongstMen
Summary: AU. 'The Thirteen' are one of the most powerful gangs in the Unites States. Recently, they have forcefully recruited a Trump by the name David. This is the story of his rescue.
Kudos: 3





	The Thirteen

**Author's Note:**

> This is a first draft and will pobably will be rewritten sometime soon, pending on where I want to go with this.

David was used to leading a dangerous life. One could not live without encountering some form of violence, be it threat of kidnap, rape, assault or even death. 

Most of humanity encountered it on a day to day basis.  It was a sad life people led, brutal and usually short. 

The good guys, most commonly known as the Protectorate, did what they could but it was never enough. It was never going to be enough with the odds stacked so wholly against them. 

Statistics showed that two out of three capes were villains, the only light in the ever growing darkness were the Triumvirate, the three most powerful capes, possibly in the world. 

All of them were Heroes, sworn to protect life and cherish it, and each had a major role in the policing of America. 

Add to the dire threat of villainous capes the ever growing threat of economical and political collapse with the neverending attacks of the Endbringers and you might just understand how fucked regular mortals tended to be. 

Lucky for him, David was not one and out of his own volition was a part of a gang, though the term did it no justice. It was a behemoth, the likes of the Slaughterhouse Nine or Toybox, with the absolute majority of a major city in the United States paying tribute to its superiority. 

The sole living body left fighting in the city were the local Protectorate and PRT, their destruction too big a risk for even such a formidable foe. 

Regrettably, David was forced to join the gang, the threat of death looming over his head like an ever present vulture even these days. 

A Thinker by the name of "The Grey" had identified him out on the street as a possible cape, leading to his capture and subsequent torture and confession. 

These days he was but a tool, held in high regard soley for his power and kept in close proximity both in jealousy and in greed. 

His master was Mairon, the leader of said gang, who dolled out punishments for so little that his title was termed thus even inside David's own head. 

It would not do for  _ him _ to know of his hatred.

Fortunately, Mairon was no mind reader, though sometimes it seemed he was on the verge, too close to the truth so many a time so that one could suspect him of being more than just a powerful Master. 

The gang was known by the name of "The Thirteen", its leader's fascination with a trilogy created in Earth-Aleph the reason for its capes' names. 

Their names were so, listed by seniority: Mairon, Narya, commonly known as "The Grey", Nenya, Vilya, Angmar, Mithril, Shelob, Galadriel, Gothmog, Balrog, Gil-galad, Lurtz and last of all him, Narsil. 

Their powers ranged and each was useful, utilizing their talents in their own way. 

Mairon was a powerful Master, capable of bidding mortals and capes alike. So long as their self conviction was lesser than his, they would fall prey to his control. He probably also had some sort of accelerated intuition, or so David believed, after having been close to him for nigh a year. 

Narya was a powerful Thinker, capable of deducing with no more than a speck of dust the trajectories of the heavens and was a modest precog in addition, powerful enough so that a melee fight would spell disaster for the assailant, albeit only if said assailant boasted no Brute power. 

Nenya was a Changer, able to change into whatever shape she saw fit. 

Vilya was a Shaper, capable of causing massive maelstroms and tornadoes at a moment's thought. 

Angmar was a creepy douche and a powerful Tinker, his speciality unknown to David. 

Mithril was a pure Brute, capable of withstanding enormous amounts of hurt and continuing on as if nothing had happened. 

David knew his weakness was his need to charge his impervious state, though he could use the charge instantly. 

Mithril usually paired up with Gothmog, who was a case 53 and had the ability to create and control trolls. Literal huge, horrifying trolls. The stuff of nightmares. 

Shelob was a poison expert and had the touch of death, her skin her preferred delivery mechanism. 

Galadriel was the healer of the group and David's favourite, a down to earth woman that one could not help but adore. 

Balrog, as his name proclaims, was a pyromaniac, both capable of withstanding otherworldly temperatures and dishing out intense bursts of flames in short bursts. 

Gil-galad was a capable Striker, with the added advantage of being able to morph into smoke and disappear with the wind. 

Lurtz was a powerful marksman, able to place every shot in a two mile radius. 

Last was himself, Narsil, who was a Trump through and through. He could turn into three states: a crown, a ring and a pendant, and whomever wore him had their abilities amplified sevenfold. 

David noticed the wearer's enhancement would change according to which state he chose, but had decided long ago to keep it a secret, lest he be ordered to never again wear his own skin.

Due to the perceived morality of the gang, it had taken decades for the United States, and its operative branches, both the Protectorate and the PRT, to act against it. 

When they did manage it, it was already too late, the gang having assimilated too much power. Slowly and surely was the modus operandi Mairon preferred to use, using his connections and enslaved servants to diminish his opponents power, until no opposition was left standing. 

These days it is unknown how many officials are under Mairon's direct control, or how many had just been bribed and are now working for him. 

But whatever the situation, it is enough so that any change to the status quo of leadership in the city or an offering of aid is quickly met with a polite but vehement refusal. 

Unfortunately for Mairon, a certain black haired Thinker had noticed the gang's new addition, and without knowing the reason, but sure of the outcome, had devised a plan. A plan that would see his downfall, and liberate him from his crown jewel.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
The city of Los Angeles woke up to a loud boom, courtesy of Alexandria, who had broken the speed barrier in her flight purposefully, signalling her arrival for all to hear. 

She was followed by a massive golden dragon, the mode of transport commonly used by teams of Protectorate when flying short distances. 

Her arrival had stirred up the local Protectorate and PRT, sending them reeling at the unexpected guests to their city. 

Alexandria and the drake quickly landed at the foot of the PRT building, a beautiful glass building which was stationed at the edge of town. 

As they landed, the dragon opened its lower jaw, so that it configured similar to a staircase, though a jagged one at that, and out strode Armsmaster, Miss Militia, Panacea, Glory Girl, Clockblocker and Vista. 

Upon their arrival they were quickly ushered into the building, leaving the civilians outside gobsmacked. 

"What is the meaning of this?" barked the PRT Director of West-South-West, Mr Groundhale, a fat and grumpy man. 

"Forgive our abruptness, Director Groundhale, but we have been ordered by Director Costa-Brown to make haste. A call to arms has been issued, and your city has been granted the charter by POTUS." 

"The charter?" Director Groundhale balked. 

"Yes. It seems the President has had enough of 'The Thirteen'. He must love this city very much." 

"But that's insane. You are subjugating the city's population to a warzone without their consent. Millions will die." 

"I assure you, this decision was not made lightly. Believe me, for us to even endanger ourselves so, with us coming into a Master's den, as the saying goes, was by no means a small bureaucratic hurdle, but it was ordered by POTUS and was deemed a necessary national security initiative, along the lines of apprehending the Nine." 

"But this is insane, the Slaughterhouse Nine are a much bigger threat to civil liberties and human decency than The Thirteen will ever be. Why has their priority gone so up? This is madness. To punish those doing less wrong than those who are doing more is to incite more wrongdoing." 

"I understand your concern, Director, and believe me the Nine have not fallen from their priority as enemies of the state. In fact, for your knowledge only, Eidolon is currently tracking their whereabouts in hopes of eliminating at least one of them from afar.  Accompanying him is my colleague, Legend. 

If there are any capes on this planet I believe are capable of overpowering Bonesaw's machinations, it is them. 

Have faith, tomorrow we might be down to six or seven. 

But know this Director. It is not your place to question the words of the President, nor is it your place to question Director Costa-Brown in such a blatant disregard of protocol. 

The Charter had been given. It is too late now to reverse course, nor is it a wise idea. 

Better minds than yours have given their approval. With all due respect, you either get in line, or I find someone else to do the job. Is that clear?" asked the black helmeted woman. 

"Yes, it is." replied the Director, meekly. 

"I need you to provide a press conference, and fill the audience with able minded people instead of the half-wits you usually seem to bring. It would not do to be seen as though the Protectorate is too scared of a few harsh questions." 

"Yes ma'am, I"ll do it right away." and so he went, still a little befuddled and angry at the perceived slight, though too aware of the power standing before him to voice them. 

_ A few weeks prior _

Dennis was lazing about, listening to music, when he was called by the intercom to bring his sweet ass to Conference Room 13, or as they put it, "Clockblocker, please be advised, your attendance in Conference Room 13 is requested immediately." 

Whatever the matter, it had to be the big leagues as no one used Conference Room 13 'cept in dire matters, like Endbringers and shit. 

Oh well, it's not as if he had anything better to do. As he entered the room, both a complaint and a joke on his lips, he saw the room's occupants and stood speechless, leaving the stupid joke unuttered. 

Well to be fair, it was one occupant that had him stunned, the rest being the same old colleagues and friends he worked with everyday. 

For those wondering who the prized guest was: it was motherfuckin' Alexandria. The Alexandria. Oh hell, his day has just spiked in his Interest-O'-Meter. 

"Thank you all for joining me." Alexandria declared, as he sat down, "What I am about to tell you is top secret and cannot be uttered outside this room ever again. 

The President of the United States has issued a charter against the gang known as 'The Thirteen'. This means war with the possibility of tens of thousands losing their lives."

Dennis gulped.

"Tell me, what do you know of the Thirteen?" Alexandria asked. 

Using his usual curt and efficient tone, Armsmaster answered her. "They are a gang working in the city of Los Angeles, with thirteen capes to their roster and hundreds of non-cape members. 

The leader is a cape named Mairon, a Master 8. They live in Los Angeles, and hold no political views other than garnering profit. 

They deal in extortion, kidnappings, drugs, blackmail, human trafficking and assassinations. 

It is suspected that most of L.A's elite is under the influence of Mairon, either powerwise or simply by money or influence."

"Good. These files contain all the knowledge we have managed to ascertain regarding each of the thirteen capes. Some of it is pure speculation and is noted in red." she said as she dolled out case files. 

"If you would indulge me, turn to the last page, to Narsil." 

As they did so Clockblocker was quick to note the somewhat despondent number of pages summarizing each of the thirteen capes. 

Only one of the capes had more than a page of information, while the rest had tons of speculation, all written in bright red and issued with an adjacent warning.


End file.
